


Days with Thee

by PeachGO3



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Christmas, Dancing, Drinking, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), snake form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 19:31:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 15,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18666916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGO3/pseuds/PeachGO3
Summary: I sawthisand thought I’d give it a spin that fits one particular demon and his angel. – After the averted Apocalypse, every day is a day to be treasured.Spanish Translation available!





	1. A Selfie Together

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Armageddon't. Some prompts on the list may not seem like it, but I will keep everything on here rated G and fluffy to count down the series’ release. Enjoy ♡
> 
> Spanish translation done by @ChaoticNeutralChocolate: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19279195
> 
> edit: I un-tagged the TV series in the Fandom category, as I wrote this before the adaptation was released and thus used my book characterisations for them. I'm very happy we've got so much new GO content on AO3, but the charaterisations in both canons are very different. So I figured people should be able to filter fics with their preferred versions of the characters :')

Much to Aziraphale’s misery, Crowley had finally gotten himself a smart phone. One with a touch screen and a fashionable black phone case. It suited him, no doubt, but the tapping noises and the demon’s loud exclamations during online gaming made Aziraphale be beside his angelic self with annoyance and irritation.

But the thing that delighted Crowley the most was the mobile’s twenty-megapixel front camera and the twelve-megapixel selfie camera (whatever that meant). Crowley happily explained to Aziraphale what a selfie was. “Thank you. Now I don’t have to die in ignorance. Err, well, you know. Thanks.” Aziraphale sipped his cocoa.

Crowley looked irritated. “How have you never seen teenagers taking photos of themselves? This is happening, like, everywhere. Especially here in London, with all the tourists and such.”

“No, never noticed it,” Aziraphale said truthfully. He really has his head up in the clouds, Crowley thought and stepped closer. “Well, angel, the best way to get to know selfies” – he played with the mobile in his hands – “is to personally experience them.”

Aziraphale got hasty. “W-what do you mean?”

“Let’s take a selfie,” Crowley smiled, and ere Aziraphale could protest, the demon had placed himself way too near his head and raised the mobile in his hand. For a brief moment Aziraphale could see their faces on the screen, then there was a clicking sound, and Crowley pulled himself away again. So that was it, huh. “Here,” the demon beamed and put the mobile in front of Aziraphale’s face. “Your smile looks as uncomfortable as ever, but I think my looks are compensating for it.”

Aziraphale didn’t say anything as he sipped his cocoa, unconcerned with the matter. The angle of the photo looked weird and the light wasn’t exactly flattering to his face.

“Oh, look, it looks amazing in black and white,” said Crowley and shoved the mobile into the angel’s face again.

When Aziraphale looked up, he really found the look of black and white version quite pleasing. “My skin looks so fair,” he marvelled. “That’s just the filter,” said Crowley. “Oh,” said Aziraphale.

“Filters make everything look better.”

“But it’s not a real memory then,” Aziraphale said sadly.

“Who cares about that? People these days don’t want memories, they want to post photos of themselves on social media to get likes and comments on how amazing they look and what kind of diet they’re on an’ what mascara they’re using an’ such.”

Aziraphale nodded dutifully, although he only understood a small percentage of what Crowley just said. The demon tapped frantically on the screen, and eventually he said, “These ones are fun.” He positioned himself next to Aziraphale again, and this time the angel made sure to adjust his posture in time and placed his hands in his lap, striking his best smile. But when he looked at his face on the screen, there were dog ears on top of his head and a pink cartoon nose on his one.

“Oh,” he said amused, “look at that. It made me a dog.”

“Me too,” Crowley said and grinned. “Yours are black,” Aziraphale noted and smiled. He was in a good mood now, so he obeyed when Crowley prompted him to sick out his tongue. They laughed at the sight (well, Crowley laughed more at Aziraphale’s childlike delight than the actual filter, because really, it looked quite silly). “I’m a dog! This does make a lot of fun,” Aziraphale smiled.

“I know, right? Here, I got plenty of others…”


	2. Sharing a Milkshake

Aziraphale’s love for dairy products was something Crowley had yet to understand. It was actually amazing how much milk you could consume without getting seriously sick. Crowley shivered. The angel had a particular weakness for dairy drinks, like cocoa and milkshakes, and so Crowley brought some to the bookstore once in a while. But because Aziraphale liked his self-mixed cocoa more than any other one, Crowley brought milkshakes more often.

“You do realise you could just, you know – _make_ one yourself, right?” Crowley would ask oftentimes, but the angel insisted that the ones they sold at McDonald’s were without comparison. Even after the stuff with Famine. Crowley did not dare to miracle it, so he went there and bought one.

“Evenin’, angel. I bought you some milkshake.”

“Oh, thank you, dear.” Aziraphale’s fair head popped up from behind a bookshelf. “They were out of vanilla though, so I went with strawberry,” Crowley said as he went to Aziraphale’s desk and placed the icy plastic cup on it. Aziraphale stepped closer. “They were out of vanilla? That’s surprising, considering it’s the most popular flavour. Well, maybe that _is_ the reason it’s sold out. Anyway, fine with me. I like all of them. Thank you!”

Crowley’s eyes followed the angel’s hands and then his lips as they closed around the straw.

“Tasty!” His eyes sparkled and he offered Crowley the cup. “It’s really tasty. Try it.”

“I already tried one, remember? Not really into it.”

“Oh, but that was vanilla. You should try strawberry, it’s refreshing and delicious,” the angel said with such a serious face that Crowley had to think of something different. “No offense, but there’s only one straw, so…”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale and miracled a second one sticking out of the cup. Crowley sighed and leaned forward. His stomach tickled when he noticed that Aziraphale was observing his every move. “You’re making me uncomfortable. Give me that,” he said and whipped the cup out of the angel’s hand.

Aziraphale still eyed him as he took a sip, and Crowley prepared to contort his face in disgust, but actually, it tasted quite nicely. It was fruity, albeit very sweet. Aziraphale’s face lit up. “You do like it!”

Crowley failed to not let that precious smile affect his composure. “Yeah, I guess it’s not as awful,” he said.

Aziraphale heard it but pretended he didn’t. “Let’s get two next time, dear.” He stepped closer, beaming, and closed both hands around the cup (and Crowley’s hand that was holding it). His eyes locked with Crowley’s, all narrow from smiling, and he sucked at the straw.

Hm, Crowley thought and closed his lips around the other straw. He brought his other hand up to Aziraphale’s face and placed it there, causing the angel to snicker. “Oh dear,” he laughed quietly, and Crowley smiled before pulling away. His knees shook from all the sweet.


	3. Grumpy Morning Heads

Aziraphale lowered his cup. “Good morning, dear,” he greeted his companion. Crowley yawned and scratched his head, dark red hair sticking out in every possible direction. His shades were still on his face, but totally out of place. Aziraphale snickered. Crowley liked sleeping. He had now slept for three weeks straight.

“Mornin’,” the demon mumbled as he sat down (just in this moment a glass of water appeared on the table), eyebrows risen and mouth curved down. Aziraphale snickered again. Crowley didn’t smile back. “You know,” he began, “most people consider this look quite sexy. Amazing sex-hair, you know.” He vaguely gestured around his head.

Aziraphale nodded as if he understood what ‘sex-hair’ was, but he still didn’t think that the worn-out look suited his rowdy demon. It looked cute, though. He caught himself thinking that he would look even cuter if he would wear his hair long and curly, like he did in the old days.

Crowley sighed and adjusted his glasses. They looked at each other for a while.

“You think I look terrible,” the demon suddenly blurted out.

“No,” went Aziraphale. He was hurt to hear that Crowley thought like this. “Why would you think that?” He paused. “I didn’t know my thinking of your looks bothered you. You should know that I find your human form rather pleasing to look at, I always did.”

Crowley didn’t say anything. He turned away, mumbling something incoherent. Aziraphale cleared his throat. He didn’t sleep himself, but he knew one or two things about dealing with drowsy people. “I know what’s just right for you now, dear. Have a coffee.” He smiled as he made a cute white cup appear next to Crowley’s glass of water, complete with a little biscuit on the side.

“It’s pitch-black, as you like it.”

“Thanks.” Crowley took a sip, the taste as bitter as his mood. Perfect.

“It’s so sunny outside,” Aziraphale chatted as he looked out of the bookshop’s window, “we should go outside this morning, maybe take a walk or so, whatever you like. You picked a lovely day for waking up.”

“Hm.”

“What made you wake up anyway?”

“Oh, err,” Crowley began while chewing. He still had trouble speaking. “I, err, it just happened, I guess.” Aziraphale’s face saddened. “Was it something I did?”

“No,” Crowley said irritated. It was hard for him to imagine the angel doing something so noisy it could wake him up. _Him_. “I’m fine, I just need to… get back properly. We can go outside later.”

“Nice. That’s fortunate,” the angel smiled. “But it’ll take time,” Crowley warned him and drank the whole cup of coffee in one go. Aziraphale nodded and thought of something that might help Crowley wake up properly. “Shall I turn on the radio maybe?”

“Oh, shit, no.”

Aziraphale flinched.

“Sorry. Oh, shit, please don’t,” Crowley corrected himself. He refilled the cup and emptied it right away.


	4. Picnicking

Tempting Aziraphale wasn’t exactly a difficult task. Over the last thousands of years, Crowley had perfected it, he knew which buttons to press in that lovely head. And it wasn’t like the angel was seriously trying to resist. There were still occurrences that worked easier than others, and usually these were invitations for lunch. In particular, lunch in a park or on some meadow. Aziraphale’s fondness for picnics was endearing, Crowley thought, and he enjoyed the hours they spend under the sky eating and drinking.

But their ideas about preparing a picnic were complete opposites. Aziraphale liked things the old-fashioned way and needed several hours before setting off. “What would you like then? Shall I make some sandwiches? Oh, and I still got some tomatoes, we can take those, too, if you like.”

Crowley hummed.

“Here, you can take that,” Aziraphale said and unloaded a bunch of stuff in the demon’s arms. “A blanket?” Crowley asked. “Yes, I thought the blue one looked nicest,” the angel said with his head in the fridge. “Or should we bring the red one?”

“That was not what I meant,” Crowley said as Aziraphale placed some cheese in his ridiculously cute basket. “It’s almost thirty degrees outside, the grass is as dry as a desert. All parched. We don’t need one.”

“Don’t want to risk it,” Aziraphale said and pointed to his beige suit. “Well,” Crowley said and restarted one of their oldest discussions, “you could put on something more casual.”

“Do you want to wait this long? We don’t have the time to change,” Aziraphale said with a worried face.

“But we do have time to prepare several sandwiches individually?” Crowley asked, his yellow eyes gazing over the stained glasses. Aziraphale paused to look at him guiltily, but Crowley took everything back. Arguing would delay things even further, and he didn’t want to fight with the angel.

Crowley liked to just make things appear out of nowhere, to _make_ them like demons and angels do. To miracle them. Aziraphale preferred the way humans made them. It was exhausting, but at best, it could be really freaking cute. Plus, Aziraphale’s true priorities were revealed when he just miracled something instead of preparing it the old-fashioned way.

In the evening, they could finally set off and settled under a tree in St James’s Park. Crowley made no one bother them in their ten metres radius. He also made sure to bring a nice white wine. As they laid on the soft blue blanket and sipped their drinks, enjoying the warm air and chewing some tête-de-moine, Aziraphale relaxed more and more, to the point when he let his head fall forward as he laughed, and placed it on Crowley’s shoulder.

“You should take off that jacket, angel, it’s far too warm,” Crowley suggested smilingly, and Aziraphale handed him his glass to undress. Crowley took another sip. He liked Aziraphale best when he was relaxed and not all uptight. The angel smiled blissfully as a puff of wind cooled their faces. He looked so cute in the half-darkness.

“Spontaneous picnicking was a nice idea,” Aziraphale then said and picked a grape. Crowley looked around smugly. “Better here than in a stuffy bookshop with no air-conditioning. No offense.”

“You’re right.”

Preparing a picnic for such a long time made it feel more special, he thought. They sat there until the stars arose and it became so cold that Crowley had to physically stop himself from trying to snuggle up against the angel.


	5. Bake Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "They should be baking angel food cake!" cries my ass as I type this.

“I still have apples.”  
“And?”  
“And I thought we could maybe bake some nice apple pie, if you like. Or cookies. I also bought ingredients for your beloved coconut macaroons.”

Crowley lifted his head at these words. Aziraphale smiled at him knowingly. The demon would kill for coconut macaroons (and only for them). 

They started baking, but Crowley soon realised it had been a bad idea. He had to wear a hairnet. And Aziraphale tolerated no magic in his kitchen, absolutely none. “The eggs were still whole if we just _made_ them combine with the rest,” Crowley said.

“That’s not how it works,” Aziraphale said and tried smiling. “To separate the white and the yellow is a true artform. Let me take care of this one here.” He reached between them to clean the mess Crowley made with the eggs. “Why don’t you peel the apples in the meantime?”

“I’ll try,” Crowley shrugged, already knowing he’s going to mess that up, too. He’s never peeled apples before. Apples looked coolest when you just bit a junk off them, all casually. It looked menacing. Crowley grinned and posed with an apple, but Aziraphale’s smile looked haunted. “C’mon, angel. Have fun!”

“I’m having great fun,” Aziraphale assured him.

“But you don’t laugh at the Garden’s Serpent posing with an apple?”

Aziraphale’s face softened, and Crowley laughed smugly. “There we go. I’m funny.”

“You are. With your sweet hairnet.”

Crowley paused for a moment, then he placed the apple on the counter and decided to stir the cookie dough. Aziraphale let him. Soon the angel had finished the coconut macaroons and put them by the window to cool down. “Uhh, that smell,” Crowley whispered and threw his head back. Amazing.

“Don’t eat them before they’re cooled,” Aziraphale smiled, but Crowley already had one between his fingers, cooling it down with one brief blow. He moaned when he ate it, the wafer crunching deliciously on his tongue. “Ohh, angel. You make the best macaroons in the bloody universe.”

“Why, thank you, dear.”

Crowley grinned as he looked at his angel. “What’s going through your mind?” Aziraphale asked. He stepped closer and tugged seductively at Crowley’s pinny. It had ‘salt’ written in bright letters on it. Aziraphale wore the one with ‘sugar’. He sewed them by himself.

“What’s going through _your_ mind?” Crowley asked back, lips parted, but they were interrupted by the oven’s ping.

Crowley decided to eat some raw cookie dough. While the macaroons and the pie cooled down, Aziraphale covered the table top with flour and prepared the rolling pin. Everytime he turned, Crowley stole a bit of dough from the big bowl.

“The amount should at least fill three tins. Oh dear, we’ll have enough cookies until Christmas,” Aziraphale laughed as he checked the old cookery book once again. Crowley hummed in agreement, a sound that made the angel suspicious.

The rest of the afternoon was Aziraphale baking cookies and Crowley stealing cookie dough or coconut macaroons – depending on where the angel was looking at the moment. “Crowley, don’t,” he said eventually, oven gloved hands on his hips. “You’ll get sick. And it’ll make for less cookies.”

“It’s amazing when you dunk it into fluid chocolate, actually,” Crowley said while chewing.

Aziraphale blinked. “Like fondue?”

Crowley nodded smugly. “Oh, yeah. Try it.” He stepped aside to reveal the small chocolate fountain he had miracled and dunked one bit of dough into it. “Since when is that here?” Aziraphale asked as he seriously questioned his sense of smell, but Crowley was already offering him a chocolate-coated bar of dough. He tasted it, and boy, it really was amazing.

Crowley convinced Aziraphale that they already had enough cookies and pie and pushed the delighted angel into the chair so that he couldn’t see that Crowley had already eaten half of the coconut macaroons.


	6. Ice Skating

Cold winters were great, because they made for cosy outfits and fun activities, such as cuddling for warmth and drinking hot cocoa regardless of the time of day. Aziraphale loved cold winters with all his heart. In the past, they often prompted him to help the poor and shelter them from any harm. By now, a great number of humans was able to help themselves, at least where he lived, and so the angel needed another catalyser for his need to do good.

Usually, that would be Crowley.

The demon’s cheeks were red from the cold weather, and his breath crystalised in the air. His yellow eyes were hidden behind his shades, but Aziraphale could still see their scepticism as they roamed the frozen lake. “It’s not safe,” he said deadpan.

“It is safe. Look at all those people! They’re having the time of their lives.”

“I’m not going, Aziraphale.” The angel’s smile died. Crowley using his full name meant he was seriously upset, and the nervous hiss was back, too. Aziraphale touched his leather coated arm to comfort the demon. “You’re cold. Do you want my scarf?”

“No,” Crowley cried.

Aziraphale breathed and adjusted his posture. He turned to step onto the ice. He was clumsy and angular at first, but then he got used to the slippery feeling of the ice skates on his feet. They were cute with white ornaments and little bows as shoelaces. “Look,” Aziraphale smiled and turned in one swift motion, “it’s holding me.”

“Just because your weight is twice as much as mine,” Crowley called, “doesn’t mean I won’t get hurt.”

Aziraphale pretended he didn’t hear the first part. Cautiously, he skated closer to the bank again and held out his arms. Crowley was fishing for his hands, but Aziraphale didn’t come any closer. “Just set your feet on the ice,” he encouraged the demon.

Crowley cursed under his breath, but then he decided he was better than this. He breathed in and pushed himself forward, hoping that his angel would catch him. Instead, they fell on top of one another.

Aziraphale laughed. “Well, surely first steps are hard.” He booped Crowley’s nose with his soft cotton glove and smiled. Crowley flew back onto his feet and lurched. He helped Aziraphale up. “See?” the angel said. “We fell, and there isn’t even a crack in the sheet.”

Just then a couple of kids ran past them, eager to skate. They were so enthusiastic that their speed made the angelic couple spin on the ice. Suddenly, Crowley was packed with ambition and rushed headlong forward (as fast as he could, seeing how he was still embracing Aziraphale). Soon he would spin on the ice like an Olympic skater and even jumped and did pirouettes. Aziraphale recognized the Lutz jump and a toe loop. He happily applauded his companion.

But the most fun thing was just skating side by side, slowly, while holding hands. Aziraphale blushed when Crowley took his hand with such casual naturalness that he had to loosen his scarf.


	7. Wedding Day

Aziraphale and Crowley were enjoying a lunch the Ritz’s restaurant when their casual chatting was interrupted by a wedding party crossing the room. Leading the group were the two brides, giggling and blushing in their white dresses.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale went, “that Sweetheart looks amazing! A dream come true.”  
“Excuse me?” Crowley was irritated.

“The gown of the shorthaired bride. Sweetheart. It’s an American brand.”

Crowley’s eyes followed the guests into the next room. He shrugged. “Oh, you’re right. Fair enough.” Aziraphale just sipped his wine.

Crowley fished for the tomatoes, and suddenly, there was inadvertent silence between them. “They looked very happy,” Aziraphale eventually said. “I hope they will share an unforgettable day with their loved ones.”

“Please,” Crowley railed, “weddings these days are just fuel for capitalism. They’re so exaggerative and cost a freaking fortune. And then you post photos on social media to make everyone believe your life’s one perfect romantic movie.”

“Well,” said Aziraphale, suddenly very defensive, “if it makes them happy. A wedding ought to be a perfect day.”

“They make you believe that, so your relatives have something to do and are less afraid to spend money. But really, I don’t care that much, so…”

“Why are you like this?” Aziraphale snapped and put down his glass. He frowned. Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, angel. Didn’t know you were interested in weddings. Or the idea of idealised romance.”

Aziraphale fumbled with his hands. “It’s just nice to see people be happy and in love, that’s all. It’s my very nature.”

“If it’s any consolation, the majority of these people that just passed by is probably more stressed than happy,” Crowley said, but he made sure to keep his voice soft. Aziraphale’s sad gaze had wandered outside, into the green garden behind the golden Ritz windows.

“I’m sorry. I’m way too cynical about this,” Crowley apologised. “You are. I guess it can’t be helped, it’s in your blood,” Aziraphale sighed. “Do demons wed?”

“No,” Crowley said after a pause. “Do angels?”

“I… n-no, I don’t think so,” Aziraphale said.

Anew, there was uncomfortable silence. Crowley frantically tried to think of something that could cheer the angel up. He briefly thought about a cherry tomato that he could offer Aziraphale on a fork, but he restrained himself and asked a question instead: “So, you wanna get married?” Pleased with his action, Crowley leaned back with one arm over the back of the golden chair, smiling.

The angel smiled back. “It would be nice to do so, someday. To promote one’s love, to settle down.”

Crowley frowned. Aziraphale did settle down with him, didn’t he?

“I wonder which one had proposed,” Aziraphale said dreamily while looking to the door behind which the wedding party had disappeared. “Ahh, right, that’s still a thing that people do,” Crowley said.

“What do you mean?”  
“Well, sometimes it just happens, I suppose. When both parties are like ‘eh, let’s get married’, and no one has to get down on one knee and all that nonsense.”

Aziraphale looked into the middle distance again, as if to think about what he just heard. Then he giggled. “You’re right. Coming to the conclusion as a pair _is_ more convenient than one person being pushed into a corner.”

“Yeah,” Crowley laughed, “my folks have great fun with it. Can you think of something more uncomfortable than rejecting a proposal in public? In a room full of people? It’s pretty messed up if you think about it.”

“Which begs the question…” Aziraphale began, but stopped himself midsentence. Wasn’t a proposal more official and earnest? He shook his head and raised his glass to clink. Crowley raised his as well. “To us,” he said.

Aziraphale smiled. “To us.”


	8. Building an IKEA Cabinet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was fun!

Crowley didn’t say anything. He had given up a long time ago, and now he watched Aziraphale struggle with the instructions the same way he did before. They bought an IKEA cabinet because Aziraphale thought it would look cute in Crowley’s flat. It had white panels and an unpronounceable Swedish name.

“It cannot be that hard. Most humans build those without any problems,” Aziraphale frowned as he held up the instructions to take a better look at them. He kneed on the carpet. “I guess most humans don’t have missing pieces in their purchase,” Crowley said and swung his wine glass.

“The pieces are not missing,” Aziraphale said over his shoulder, “we must’ve used the wrong screws before. Here, we still have four of the big ones.”

Crowley’s eyebrows rose. “Those aren’t the big ones.”

“Yes, they are,” said Aziraphale.

“They all look the same. They’re the same size as the ones you call ‘small’.”

Aziraphale sighed. They had yet to decide whether self-built furniture was a work of Heaven or Hell. “Come on, angel. Take a time out,” Crowley said and made another glass appear. While Aziraphale drank, he would miracle new screws. Unisex.

“Well, this was unnecessary,” he said when the cabinet was finally complete. “Hm,” said Aziraphale. He wanted to agree, but then again, he didn’t want to. They stood a while side by side, eyeing the new flatmate, and thought anew which side was to blame for furniture shops like that Swedish juggernaut. Aziraphale had thought he’d feel a cosy feeling of accomplishment once this thing was built, but he didn’t.

“But it was a nice trip, wasn’t it” Aziraphale finally said to cheer himself up and turned to the demon. “The shop, I mean. Like a leisure park. A bit more informal than usual. And they had beautiful flowers. And the food was nice. Köttbullar, that was the name, wasn’t it?”

“Okay, first of all,” Crowley began and pointed a finger to Aziraphale, “the plants were a bloody insult.” He briefly eyed his own houseplants. “And second – I don’t think that those meatballs tasted any different than the ones you get at Linguini’s down the road.”

“It was the sauce,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully.

“The sauce was good,” Crowley agreed and turned to look at the cabinet again. After a while, he emptied his glass and got the telephone. He was in the mood to terrorize the IKEA customer service.


	9. Under an Umbrella

For a while now Crowley had been wondering what it was about that black umbrella that Aziraphale kept in their cottage. He treasured it like Crowley had treasured his Thermos flask. One rainy day, when they were sitting on the couch and ate their take-away sushi, the demon thought about that umbrella again, and this time he asked Aziraphale about it.

“Oh, that one. It’s the one from the End Times.”  
Crowley’s eyebrows rose, and Aziraphale smiled uncomfortably. “That massive umbrella? That one that shielded us from bloody fish that rained down?”  
The angel nodded and ate another nigiri. 

“Wow,” Crowley said and laughed. “I’m getting all sentimental. Why are you keeping it?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Aziraphale said.

“I’m not! I’m serious.” Crowley smiled and placed an arm on the sofa’s back (he was sitting on the left armrest). Aziraphale rubbed his hands on his pants in a nervous gesture. “Ah, you know, it’s nothing…”

“C’mon, angel,” Crowley teased and flashed his brightest smile. Aziraphale gave in. Adjusting his posture, he said, “It’s reminding me of our first meeting. Do you remember? Back in the Garden.”

“Of course I remember,” Crowley said and almost flinched because of the inadvertent softness in his voice.

“When it rained for the first time ever on Earth, I shielded you with my left wing,” Aziraphale recalled. He blushed. Oh no, thought Crowley. He had to do something about this. “Can I have those?” he asked, pointing to the remaining maki with his chopsticks. “Oh, I’m full,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley crammed them into his mouth all at once. “Angel, I was thinking,” he said, mouth full, “that we could maybe go outside. Take a walk at the coast.”

“It’s pouring,” Aziraphale noted.

“We got the umbrella,” Crowley said as casually as possible and pointed to the back of the room. Aziraphale turned to look him in the eye, but then both men looked down on the floor.

“I g-guess we can do that,” said Aziraphale and got up in a hasty motion to get the umbrella. It was small when folded together, but gigantic when you needed it to be. When, for example, it was raining fish and you wanted to shield your friend from them.

They stepped outside, and not only was it raining, it was _storming_ , wind going wild and destroying the plant pots that stood outside the door.

“Bloody hell,” Crowley said. But Aziraphale was determined to go. He held the umbrella as they made their way forward along the chalk hills that were the South Downs, side by side, shoving the umbrella vertically. The storm was piercing through their clothes and skin anyway, and the coldness was severe. They decided to not go further than ten metres and quickly returned inside, all soaked, cheeks reddened.

Crowley cursed under his breath, but they both laughed. “I guess it’s good service during Armageddon, but not in the English countryside,” Aziraphale joked and dried them both with a wave of his hand. “What a romantic idea of yours that was. I’m going to make us hot drinks, dear.”


	10. 1950s Version

Aziraphale had never quite understood what was bothering Crowley so much about his style of clothing, especially when Aziraphale himself never really commented on Crowley’s wardrobe. But he demon was persistent. “Your aesthetics got stuck in the nineteen fifties,” he would often say.

That wasn’t entirely true, and both of them knew this. Because both of them were around in the nineteen fifties. And each’s style was very different from today’s, at least according to Aziraphale, because he picked up and collected whatever he found nice while Crowley always went with the latest trends.

They met in front of a fish and chips shop in Manchester, in 1951.

Aziraphale instantly recognized the Bentley that was parked on the pavement. And the demon in the leather jacket, but he waited and carefully thought about the phrasing of his sentences before he spoke. As he walked up to Crowley, he said, eloquently, “Erm, excuse me…”

Crowley turned around, hair gelled and shades thick and dark. “Angel? Wow, ‘s been a long time.”

Aziraphale smiled and squeezed the bag of fish and chips in his hands. “Yes. I knew it was you. You look good.”

“Well,” said Crowley, offering the space beside him on the remains of a brick wall, “sadly, I can’t say the same for you. You’re paler than usual.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale and sat down beside the demon, careful to leave a wide enough gap between them, “I guess rebuilding the country has been quite exhausting.”

“War sucks, heh,” said Crowley and shoved a bunch of chips into his mouth.

“You’re a demon,” Aziraphale said irritated. (At that time, although they had known each other for thousands of years, they hadn’t been as close as they were today. Today, Aziraphale would have known better.) “I told you before that not all demons take a delight in war,” Crowley said, a sore hiss in his voice.

“All right,” said Aziraphale quickly. He ate one bit.

 

“Why do you remember that?” Crowley asked.

“I remember a lot of our meetings,” Aziraphale said, “especially when they were… you know, awkward on my behalf.”

Crowley lowered his wine glass. “So do I. But I don’t see what this has to do with you dressing outmodedly.”

“I dressed neatly in the fifties!” Aziraphale protested. “I hoped that when I told you about our meeting, you would recall.”

“I don’t,” Crowley said bluntly, lying through his teeth. “And even if you did dress ‘neatly’ then, your wardrobe today still looks extremely like the nineteen fifties.” Aziraphale adjusted himself and said: “I wore a nice white and blue shirt, my lovely Victorian spectacles and a luxurious dicky, if you can recall now.”

“You _are_ a luxurious dicky,” Crowley laughed, and the angel felt strangely offended by it, but then he figured that the demon had probably meant it as a compliment. After this conversation, Crowley did not comment on his clothing style for a longer time span than usual. Aziraphale had yet to understand that Crowley, although he thought it to be really outdated, would never change a thing about how his dear angel dressed because he was secretly rather fond of it.


	11. Silly Snapchat Photo

Much to Aziraphale’s distress, Crowley had discovered a new app for his smart phone. It was called ‘Snapchat’ and about the most annoying thing Aziraphale ever had the misfortune to encounter, and he’s been on this earth for six thousand years. But it also had those funny filters that could alter his likeness. The angel was torn. Crowley was not.

“C’mon, let’s try another one,” he encouraged his companion.

“What else do you have? I’d like to do the dog again.”

“We already did that one a thousand times. Let’s try a new one.”

Aziraphale sighed as Crowley swiped.

“Here, that one looks cute on you,” he said and turned the mobile to Aziraphale. The angel looked at his own face, but with lots of tiny pink hearts around his head. “Suits you,” Crowley smiled, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he meant by this.

“If you smile now, you look like you’re in love,” Crowley wittered on and came closer, so that he could watch the screen as well.

“You don’t know what I look like when I’m in love,” Aziraphale said absently, and Crowley rolled his eyes back into his head.

“What about that flower crown thing?” Aziraphale asked, trying to make an effort in keeping their conversation alive. “You liked the flower crown, heh,” Crowley went and swiped to find it. On his way, he stumbled upon a filter that made their eyes big and goggling. Crowley laughed and took a photo.

Aziraphale tried really hard to comprehend the demon’s joy about this silliness, but he did not succeed.

“Look, angel,” Crowley then said and turned the mobile to Aziraphale again. Above his head was a shining halo, and he had a tiny pair of wings. And his face was strangely distorted. “I look like an infant,” he whined, but Crowley was amused. “We look cute,” he said, giving the last word a stark emphasis.

Crowley took a photo, but when they looked at it again, Crowley’s halo and wings were gone. Instead, his likeness sported red horns and a pitchfork.

“Well, that’s unusual,” he said. “It is. I didn’t get a harp,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully.

“Whatever,” said Crowley and tossed the mobile away. “Let’s get a real fork and some real music. Time to eat.”


	12. Ballroom Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No ballroom, I’m cheating in this one :^)

The Gavotte lessons Aziraphale had taken in the eighteen eighties had been hard. Angels weren’t great dancers. In fact, no angel apart from Aziraphale ever really danced. But when he first saw people dancing like this back in 1701, he felt the desire to move like this, too. So elegantly, yet so vigorous and different from the other dances in the Suite. In perfect motion with the other dancers, without ever really having to touch them. It was fascinating. And it wasn’t too complicated to dance the Gavotte with Crowley.

Over one hundred and eighty years later, Aziraphale had finally brought himself to take professional lessons. And he still wanted to learn the other suite dances – Minuets seemed fun, and Bach’s music was great – but for now, this seemed like it. He would not dance for a long time.

Until one autumn evening, when Crowley longingly looked over the red and golden park and its falling leaves.

A musician was playing a soothing waltz on a grand piano in the park’s arbour. Couples were dancing slowly as the sun set, arms around each other and swaying. It was more swaying than dancing, really, but Aziraphale didn’t mind that much. They were happy. The music was so beautiful that he himself got all sentimental and shifted closer to Crowley on the bench.

“Beautiful, ain’t it,” said the demon, refusing to look at him.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, sensing the sentiment. Crowley had been unusually silent this evening. Not that Aziraphale didn’t enjoy the shared silence, it just felt peculiar. Somehow.

They listened to a nightingale singing somewhere in a tree. It was then when Aziraphale got up and took Crowley’s hands. “Come on. Let’s dance, too.”

Crowley swallowed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The nervous hiss was back in his voice, and Aziraphale felt himself blush. “You’re probably right,” he said quietly, and sat down again, further from Crowley than before, hands on his legs. They fumbled with the fabric of his trousers.

The piece was over, and several of the couples stopped to look at each other longingly, and they smiled and kissed. Crowley shifted. The pianist started playing another waltz. It was a quiet piece, but more restless than the one from before. People walked on. It got colder as the sun set lower.

Wordless, Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and gently pulled him away from the bench, closer to the arbour, decorated with gillyflowers. Aziraphale could feel his own heart beating and his eyes blinking, but he could not see Crowley’s face, because the demon had pulled him so close that the angel’s head rested on his shoulder.

Embraced like this, holdings hands, Crowley’s steady arm on his back, they swayed to the piano’s melancholic music until the nightingale flew home.


	13. Lazy Sunday Morning

Aziraphale got up early. Not that he had slept, but for the night, he had been sitting on the great white armchair in Crowley’s flat. Now that the sun was rising, he decided it was a nice time to start the day. Crowley was still in the bedroom. He did sleep. Had gotten used to this human custom. In the living room, right beside the dining table, was this ineffably ambiguous statue Crowley had commissioned. ‘Good and Evil Wrestling’. Aziraphale swallowed every time he looked at it.

He decided to wake up Crowley and walked past it.

He knocked at the bedroom door, and to his surprise, there was an actual answer. “Come in, angel.” Aziraphale entered. Crowley was awake and reading a newspaper. His legs were sprawled out on the bed, and his feet (with shoes?) were out of the opened window. There were three big windows in the bedroom, and the bed had just the right height for the demon to place his legs on the ledge. Outside, the sun was shining against Mayfair’s houses.

“Good morning, dear. I didn’t know you were awake already.”

“Came to arouse me, hm?” Crowley said and tossed the newspaper aside.

“Not necessary, as I see. You have a really nice view from here,” Aziraphale said and stepped closer. “Amazing, I know, right?” Crowley agreed and stretched. His hair wasn’t messy and he already wore his snake pattern shoes, but instead of his jacket, he wore something that looked vaguely like a black waffle robe.

They decided to breakfast at home. Crowley put on some lazy Sunday morning jazz and miracled them a gourmet meal. Aziraphale was fond of classic British breakfast customs, while Crowley preferred continental, but they got into no debate over that. 

Everything was perfectly normal and fine, until one foolery slipped out of Crowley’s mouth: “Care to pass me the pozzy, love?”

Aziraphale almost choked on his scrambled eggs, and Crowley snapped back immediately. “Err,” he said and adjusted his shades. “I mean, ngh, could I have the marmalade, please? Oh, nevermind,” he whispered and made the glass fly to his open hand.

The angel had a hard time looking at Crowley for the rest of the breakfast. He had blushed furiously, to the point where Crowley just wanted to grab him and put him into the refrigerator. “There’s nothing to it, you know,” he explained as they drove in the Bentley, and he said the same thing when they were in St James’s Park. He assured Aziraphale one more time when he dropped him off at the bookstore.

Crowley could handle this professionally. He had been half-awake and lazy, and really, him calling the angel ‘love’ wasn’t a big deal at all. Aziraphale called him ‘dear’ after all. Sure, angels’ speaking habits were different from demons’, but still. It was nothing. By human standards, they were a couple anyway.

All afternoon, Crowley ranted to his houseplants about how he had called his angel ‘love’. They couldn’t care less. Neither could he. Pff.

Crowley let himself fall onto his bed and giggled like a child, only half-awake.


	14. Princess and Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give me Crowley in high heels, you cowards;;; Also I’m sticking with the radio show and the TV trailers for this one, I just like the idea of Crowley as a nanny.

“You would look great in a diadem,” Aziraphale beamed.

“Wow,” was all Crowley had to say about that. They had gone shopping in Mayfair, and Aziraphale had found a cute tiara, with Swarovski crystals and all.

“Why, you’d looked great when we were with the Dowlings.”  
“Who?”  
“When you posed as Warlock’s nanny,” Aziraphale snickered, clearly fond of the memory. “Oh,” said Crowley. Yeah, that hadn’t been his worst performance, but not his best either.

“Lipstick looked good on you,” Aziraphale went on, “and I admired your walking in heels, I still do. Oh dear, what a magnificent actor you are.”

“Don’t go overboard with it,” Crowley hissed and adjusted his shades, looking around. He was sure that in shops like this, you could get kicked out if the security service found you to be weird. But on the other hand, both of them wore expensive shoes, so maybe the staff would rather keep the potential costumers.

“I’m just imagining,” Aziraphale said, calmer now, “what a great princess you’d make.”

“And you’re the knight in shining armour?” Crowley asked. He took a look at some diamond rings on display. They looked nice. “I enjoyed being a knight back in the thirteen hundreds,” Aziraphale recalled. “Even though I know you kind of hate them.”

“I bloody do,” said Crowley. “Worst century ever.”

“But you were a decent knight,” Aziraphale said to cheer the demon up. “I appreciate it,” Crowley said truthfully and miracled a credit card to pay for the tiara. “If you think I wasn’t a half-bad knight, you’re the princess. I hope to see you wear it, angel.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale blushed. “If you want to.”

“I can also teach you to walk in heels,” Crowley said as he held the door open for Aziraphale. The angel straightened up and smiled. Who said demons couldn’t be gentlemen? “Why, thank you, sir.”

“After you, Milady,” Crowley joked and grinned madly. They went outside.

“C’mon, angel. I’m the mood to get new heels,” Crowley said as he let the sun shine onto him. Aziraphale was delighted to hear that. “I’d like to try some, too.”

“You do? Great, then I’ll teach you today.”

“I am greatly indebted to you, Sir Crowley.”

“Oh, stop talking like that,” Crowley said casually and threw an arm around Aziraphale. As they walked down the sunny street, he let the heels on his current shoes grow higher, his hips swaying. He had almost forgotten how great this felt.

 

(Later, Aziraphale bought a white pair of wedges. With bows. He could not walk in them. “Not yet,” said Crowley and took his hand.)


	15. Movie Night

The Freddy Mercury bio pic wasn’t even out when Crowley and Aziraphale went to go see it. Crowley had been looking forward to it for months, and so, mysteriously, there were two tickets left for the premiere in Wembley. It was a warm October night, and Aziraphale had dressed up in his most chic silk shirt, which Crowley highly approved of. All kinds of celebrities were there, and the actors wore their finest dinner jackets.

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale, “they’re here.” Crowley held onto his arm when Brian May and Roger Taylor walked the red carpet. The demon was breathless. He smiled weakly when Roger waved in their direction. It has been years.

The movie was emotional, as expected. The whole audience murmured in adoration, cried in joy and in pain. Even Aziraphale (who did not have any connection to Queen before) was fishing for Crowley’s hand when Freddie Mercury had his most emotional scenes, and Crowley happily squeezed it. Watching an actor lip-sync to Freddie Mercury’s songs, especially when he’d been to these concerts himself, felt a bit strange, but the delicious cocktail and Aziraphale digging out a tissue to dry his tears were enough to convince him that the evening had been worth it.

“How emotional,” Aziraphale cried when they returned to Crowley’s flat in the middle of the night and blasted ‘Somebody to Love’ from the new speakers. Crowley brandished a bottle of champagne and sang along, while Aziraphale sniffed into his handkerchief.

“Can anyyybodyyy find meee…”

“Somebody to looove…!” they sang together. Aziraphale cried out loud. “Oh, angel,” Crowley sighed, “I need something funny now.”

“Monty Python?” Aziraphale asked, all dizzy from crying and drinking. Crowley nodded.

They watched Life of Brian (for like, the thirty sixth time) and laughed out loud during their favourite scenes. Crowley’s was Biggus Dickus, and Aziraphale loved the ending and the song, of course. That he watched Monty Python at all was Crowley’s work, and the demon was rather proud of it.

When they had emptied another bottle of champagne, Aziraphale suggested Disney, so Crowley started playing Snow White. While Crowley hummed along to the tunes, he felt Aziraphale slowly falling asleep on his shoulder. The angel slept! Crowley felt his eyes flicker as he allowed his tiredness to sweep him away on the sofa, too, the bottle falling clankingly onto the laminate. He dreamt of a Queen concert that was disturbed by the People’s Front of Judea, and later in the Bentley, when he laid his hand on Aziraphale’s thigh, he had to write ‘te amo angelus’ one hundred times onto the walls of the Empire Pool, until sunrise. Aziraphale released him from the terror with a kiss.


	16. Clothes Swap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow that was fun!

“You know,” Aziraphale suddenly said, “I have always wondered what you would look like in tartan.”

Crowley almost choked. “We’ll never find out, what a shame.”

“I know you’re not entirely fond of this style of fashion,” Aziraphale said and put down his cocoa mug as Crowley raised his eyebrows. “It’s your eclectic style,” he said. “Tartan and tan and everything that looked like it fell into bleach.”

Aziraphale pretended he didn’t hear that. “I’m not suggesting it because it’s _my_ attire, but because I find it elegant and comfy. While you’re certainly dressing very stylishly, Crowley, I’m rather curious to see what you’d look like.”

“Well,” the demon said, “if you’re that curious, you could dress like me in return.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, uncomfortable.

Crowley grinned. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Aziraphale said through gritted teeth. “’kay,” Crowley said and jumped from the back of the chair, opening his arms. “Go ahead,” he said. An excited grin crept onto Aziraphale’s face, and he put down his cocoa. “So, you let me dress you? Like a mannequin?”

“As long as you don’t _un_ dress me,” Crowley hissed.

“Deal. Deal, deal, deal,” Aziraphale beamed and clapped his hands. “Let’s get that table away.” And it was gone, making enough room for the two. Aziraphale brought a hand to his chin. “What is that shirt of yours anyway?” he said.

“It’s satin,” Crowley said, but Aziraphale turned it into a white cotton shirt with a proper collar.

“Better,” he said and eyed the slouching demon. “Try standing up straight,” the angel suggested, and Crowley obeyed. “Do I look like a prim pansy yet?”

“Hey, _I’m_ the Southern Pansy,” Aziraphale said as he corrected the white sleeves. “And while I think that white looks very nice on you, a fawn tartan suit would give it the right touch.” He gave Crowley said suit, with a matching vest underneath.

“Wow,” Crowley sighed. Aziraphale had to make an effort not to eye Crowley too intensely – he looked fascinating – and twitched at the collar and the brown buttons. Crowley was so close to his face, very nice. “How about some Castillo leather shoes?”

“I think my snake leather ones are all right, angel-”

“No, these match the outfit way more. Lovely. The socks should be cashmere, I think, and we will coordinate the colour with your dicky-bow.”

“I don’t want a- _oh_ , here we go,” Crowley complained and raised his arms in resignation as he felt his throat constricted. “Light blue never goes out of fashion,” Aziraphale said, as if he had any idea about fashion. “Very nice, very nice indeed…”

The angel stepped back to eye his creation, and Crowley thought that this was what a Christmas present must feel like, if those had a consciousness. Aziraphale’s eyes roamed his outfit, but stopped at his face, where they lingered, and then the angel smiled and stepped closer. “Let’s take off those glasses, shall we?” he said, his voice all soft as he brought his hands up. “Hello, dearest,” he smiled, and Crowley’s yellow snake eyes blinked. Man, the angel was close to his face.

“Hiya,” he replied. Then he spun them around, and before the angel knew it, he was pressed into tight leather pants and a loose shirt, its V-neck way to low. “Nice, I like it,” Crowley noted and threw a thin scarf around Aziraphale’s neck. “Black suits you, angel.”

“You think?” Aziraphale asked sceptically. But when Crowley miracled a mirror into the room, he beamed at his own sight in all-black. Dashing! Even his hair was darker. So… rebellious!

“Haha!”

“Please don’t make that sound ever again,” Crowley begged, but he smiled when he said it. He put his hands behind his back and watched Aziraphale try ridiculous poses. “I’ll have known there was a bit of a rebel inside you,” he said and put on his best Aziraphale impression.

“Go ahead, make my day! Haha!”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Well, I do now. I should get a… a yo-yo or something!”

Crowley sighed and tucked at his sleeves. They weren’t so bad. And Aziraphale looked amazing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Blue over here on tumblr did a little fan drawing of this chapter and I'm;; Thank you so much!!!  
> https://generally-a-lark.tumblr.com/post/185310301488
> 
> (Also, who the fuck would've thought we would actually get something like this in Ep6, including the banter about tartan I AM LIVING)


	17. First Kiss

An angel’s body, fallen or not, worked different than a human’s. Crowley had to face this fact rather often, as he tried really hard to live as a human man. But since that one Sunday, the day after the averted Apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale have seen each other in a different light, something that humans would usually call love. But Crowley still shivered when he thought of that word. He was incredibly fond of Aziraphale and his quirks and his tummy, he made sure not to upset the angel, and they had been friends for six thousand years. And then the End Times came and went, and they survived, together.

Maybe, _maybe_ , one might call it ‘love’.

That night in Berkeley Square had been a memory Crowley let his mind wander back to happily. It had been there and then, after a lunch at the Ritz, after a walk through the park, after watching the sun set, that he tried kissing the angel. It just seemed like a natural thing to do. To stop walking, turning to each other. Stepping closer. Holding hands. Pulling each other closer, gently.

“What's going through your head?” Aziraphale had asked, face all red.

“I don’t know,” Crowley had answered truthfully. The angel’s face was so close, his lips so inviting that it would have been unreasonable to not kiss him, so Crowley made his shades disappear and leaned in.

It was a testing, tender kiss. One pair of lips gently lying on top of another one. Crowley could hear Aziraphale’s soft hum and took it as encouragement to embrace the angel a little tighter, his face flushing furiously. (Ridiculous, the demon thought. Never had he been so shy when kissing someone.)

Aziraphale tugged at his jacket and then rested his hands on Crowley’s shoulders, and leaned in more, before they pulled away again. The angel’s eyes shined beautifully in the gas lamps’ lights. Crowley did not hear the occasional cars or the nightingale, he only had eyes for this soft smiling face, that looked back at him as if he, tiny and petty demon, was this angel’s whole world. And not just any angel’s, this was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate.

“Something’s different now,” Crowley uttered, embarrassed by his hissing.

Aziraphale gently shook his head. “Maybe, dear. But I don’t feel so different at all.”

Crowley faltered. “What?” he asked softly.

“Maybe it’s the air,” Aziraphale smiled and gazed into his eyes. And when Crowley was still baffled and dead still, the angel leaned in again and pulled the demon into a second kiss.

“What is it you’re thinking about?”

Crowley jumped. “Oh, sorry!” Aziraphale apologised. He side-eyed Crowley and put down the tea set.

“You just took me by surprise, that’s all,” Crowley said and adjusted his shades. “Really? Sorry. But I was barely one metre away from you,” Aziraphale laughed and sat down beside Crowley on the sofa. “You were there,” Crowley mused, “but I was far away. In London. Berkeley Square.” He took off his glasses to look at Aziraphale directly. And oh, was it worth it.

The angel’s face softened to an extent Crowley didn’t think had been possible.

“You remember, huh, angel?”

“How could I forget that, my dear,” Aziraphale said and stammered something about repeating it, and he closed the gap between them to catch Crowley’s lips in a gentle kiss. Crowley sighed and brought his hands up to Aziraphale’s cottony jumper, and they rested there, soft and warm. Both smiled into the kiss. Angels are beings of love after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who's reading this: Thank you & have a lovely and sunny weekend ♡


	18. Something Sad

The storm swept around the cottage in all its roaring fierceness, but Crowley and Aziraphale were safe inside. Aziraphale had lit the fireplace, and the bright flames warmed the living room. The angel was reading a book (one he had already read a thousand times, Crowley supposed) and did not pay attention to anything besides that.

Crowley did. He watched the fire and its licking flames, he blinked at their bright lights and cringed at their familiar heat. It was too soon after his desperate hara-kiri ride in the burning Bentley, after the burning bookshop. Too soon.

Crowley looked down and realised his face was wet, the tears flowed, and he prayed the angel wouldn’t notice, but it was too late. “Oh no,” he heard Aziraphale’s soft voice, “Crowley, what is it?”

“Nothin’,” Crowley said, but his voice was cracking. He heard Aziraphale get up from the wingback chair, and then he felt his hand on his shoulder, soothing him. He gripped it.

They were still for a little while, Crowley sobbing on the cushion and Aziraphale hovering above him. Then, all of a sudden, Crowley sucked in a breath and blew out the fire with one calm swipe of his hand. Aziraphale sat down beside him. “What is it, my dear? Talk to me,” he whispered, his hand holding Crowley’s.

The sound of the rain was whipping, but Crowley felt his breath stabilise. He said, “It was the fire. It reminded me.”

Aziraphale listened, his jumper all fluffy against Crowley’s side. He continued. “It reminded me of the bookshop. You know, that Saturday. When I thought I’d lost you,” he added quietly, his voice nothing more than a sad whisper.

“Oh, dear Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed. How should he react to this?

“Sorry, I’m being stupid. Ironic how fire triggers trauma in a demon, isn’t it,” Crowley joked bitterly. “That day was an absolute mess, the ultimate mess if you will, but man, that fire was the absolute worst,” he cried, letting it all out. The angel’s tender touch gave him comfort, as did the darkness of the room now that the fire was gone. Maybe this was an angel’s true quality, the unconditional comfort they gave, Crowley thought. How bittersweet.

“I mean, I kinda knew you weren’t dead,” Crowley wittered on, “but the effin’ world was ending, it was The War, the one to end everything, and to live that without you, after all these years… Hell was coming after me, so what if Heaven was coming after you? What if they set the shop on fire and took you with them? I…”

Aziraphale placed another calm hand on top of Crowley’s and shushed him gently. “It’s over, dearest. We are safe here. Don’t let your mind wander back to this all too often.” He paused. “There is no need to grieve.” He squeezed Crowley’s cold hands.

“You’re right,” Crowley sniffed, “and still…”

“It’s all right to cry,” the angel said and placed a soft kiss on Crowley’s hair.

After a while, when the rain had calmed and the wind howled, they stood up in the dark. “Sorry. It’s colder now, without the fire,” Crowley apologised, but Aziraphale pulled him closer, into a gentle hug. “There’s other ways to keep warm,” he smiled and rubbed Crowley’s back, and the demon clung so tight to the angel as though the raging storm might tear them apart. But they were safe. _Safe_.


	19. Gaming Together

That smartphone was a plague. Maybe that was an exaggeration, considering how he witnessed the Biblical Plagues first hand, but crikey, this thing made Aziraphale uncomfortable.

Crowley really enjoyed it. Apart from silly photos he used his mobile for playing games, and judging by the sounds he occasionally made while gaming, Aziraphale figured he must be among the good players. He had invited Aziraphale several times to join him, but the angel always declined politely.

As with the photos though, the demon had found a way to tempt the angel into gaming as well. 

“What are you doing, dear?”

“I’m feeding my Tamagotchi. Haven’t fed it for days.”

“Oh no, it must be starving,” Aziraphale worried and came closer, but then he asked, “Your what?”

Crowley grinned. “My Tamagotchi. It’s a virtual pet.” He caressed the little colourful creature on his mobile. “Oh,” said Aziraphale.

“It wants to play basketball next! Look, isn’t it cute?” Crowley beamed. Aziraphale snickered at the demon’s angelic care for the little thing, and Crowley seemed to notice, adjusting his posture. “It’s just a little pastime. Nothing special.”

“What kind of animal is that?” Aziraphale asked and sat down.

“Don’t know. Don’t think it’s an actual animal,” Crowley murmured and threw the basketball. “The bows are cute,” Aziraphale commented and applauded when the virtual creature dunked the ball into the basket. “I have one,” Crowley smiled, “with a blue bow and pink heart hairslides. Wanna get to know it?”

Aziraphale paused for a moment, but when Crowley showed him the little creature, he was head over heels. “It’s a white bunny,” he called, “it has ears and fluffy fur!” Crowley’s heart skipped a beat when he saw the sparkle in the angel’s eyes. “Here,” he said and gave away his mobile.

Aziraphale quickly fell in love with the bunny Tamagotchi. It was a she in fact, and her name was Lovelitchi (which suited Aziraphale, as he himself also liked litchis). He had so much fun playing with Crowley’s mobile that the demon miracled other gaming consoles to play with. Not only were the graphics a lot sharper and even more colourful, but now Aziraphale could play stories with the characters and bake bread and plant flowers – it was amazing.

In the middle of the night, Crowley called into the shop that he’d leave now to his flat, and Aziraphale called a ‘good night’ back, but he was still playing. The next day, his eyes were itching and his thumb hurt. “You’ve been gaming all night?” Crowley asked. “Yes, it was just too much fun,” Aziraphale whined. Then he looked up. “Can we play together?”

“Sure, we can connect the devices and-”

“All right, let’s do it!”

Aziraphale’s addiction didn’t last long, but Crowley enjoyed it. They played together, exchanged items and sent their Tamagotchis on joint walks. “It’s just so calming,” Aziraphale murmured as he slumped against Crowley’s warm shoulder. “I know right?” Crowley growled happily and rested his head against the angel’s. What if he showed him Doom next?


	20. Pocky Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favourites to write <3

“Hey, angel.”

“Hm?”

“Over here.”

Aziraphale looked up to see that Crowley grinned at him with a chocolate stick sticking out of his mouth. The demon looked like he tried. Aziraphale gave him an encouraging nod and smiled. Then he turned to his book again.

“Hng…!”

“What is it?”

The stick broke apart and Crowley saved the chocolate end before it could fall to the ground. He chewed and said, “You were supposed to take it.”

“The chocolate? Oh dear, no, you’ve already had it in your mouth,” Aziraphale said.

“It’s that thing from Lady and the Tramp,” Crowley explained and ate another one. Aziraphale smiled at the memory. “We’ve already done that, with the spaghetti, you remember?” he said dreamily. “I know,” Crowley smiled. “But this is different. It’s a game.”

Aziraphale decided to listen to the demon and put his book away (they had been talking for a minute now, so he could pause his reading just as well). “An eating game?”

“Yes. The two parties would stick a Pocky in their mouths. Like I just did. Between the teeth. And then you bite.”

“If both of us kept on biting, we would meet in the middle,” Aziraphale said thoughtfully, and Crowley’s dumb grin told him that his train of thought was going in the right direction.

“I mean, you could stop beforehand,” Crowley said, “but then you’d lose the game.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said. Challenge accepted.

They sat down opposite to each other and Crowley took a Pocky stick between his teeth. Aziraphale leaned forward and followed his suit, all close. He looked directly into Crowley’s eyes (well, through the shades) and smiled sweetly. The stick broke immediately on Crowley’s end. The demon flailed and tried holding onto the sofa, while Aziraphale happily chewed his side of the stick and raised his arms triumphantly. “I won.”

“No, I… I wasn’t ready,” Crowley hissed.

“You’re a sore loser, that’s all,” Aziraphale sang and turned to his book again, pleasantly surprised by the sweet taste of the chocolate, but Crowley insisted on another round. This time, Aziraphale noticed the demon closing his eyes behind his glasses, so he changed his strategy. After Crowley had counted down from three, Aziraphale started humming around the stick, and then he parted his lips and moaned longingly. Crowley faltered, and stick broke on his end again.

Aziraphale laughed. “You’re not being fair,” Crowley complained, all flustered with pink cheeks. “Didn’t say it was against the rules to exploit the other party’s weaknesses,” Aziraphale smiled innocently. Crowley’s eyebrows furrowed. “It’s not a… a weakness.”

Aziraphale chewed and then invited him for a final round. They positioned the Pocky stick, and this time, Crowley stood still as a statue, not moving a single centimetre. Aziraphale chuckled as he bit his way forward, feeling Crowley’s breath on his skin as he came closer.

Putting his hand on the demon’s, Aziraphale closed his eyes and placed his lips tenderly on Crowley’s. It was chaste and innocent, and Crowley lovingly squeezed his angel’s hand before they pulled apart. “It’s a tie,” Aziraphale smiled.


	21. They Argue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Kind of. (I wrote a real fight before, but it was too painful tbh)

They have been drinking for about three hours now, Aziraphale noted. Because it was five o’clock already. Hm. Then it had been almost four hours.

“The point is… the point is…”

“Dolphins,” Aziraphale laughed and drank some more.

Crowley faltered. “No,” he said, “that was not… my point.”

“But what was your point anyway? Do you ever _really_ make points?” Aziraphale asked. “I do,” Crowley whined from the ground. “No, you don’t,” Aziraphale snickered.

Crowley was genuinely hurt about that statement, but he swallowed down his protest. “Sorry, I can’t help it,” the angel murmured into his glass, “you made me that way.”

“Mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Fair enough,” Crowley sighed. “You’ve got a… a point there. Angel.”

“Old serpent,” Aziraphale snickered and emptied his glass. “Oh, by the way,” he continued, “do snakes swim? Like, can they swim?”

“I can’t swim,” Crowley said.

“But other snakes. Can they swim? If they make an effort? They don’t have limbs, but can they swim?”

“Guess so.”

“Hm.”

There was a moment of silence as Crowley refilled his glass.

“Wait, you can’t swim? Crowley?”

“Heh?”

“You just said… that you can’t… y’know, bloody swim.”

“Hm. Don’t remember if I can.”

“You should learn to swim, dear,” Aziraphale said and looked down on Crowley with strict eyes.

“Don’t wanna.”

“But you ought to.”

Crowley snorted. “No? Why should I?” He took a sip and ruined his shirt with it. “What’s up with you, angel? Why d’you… say things like that? You’re mean…”

“I’m not.”

“Ahh, whatever.” Crowley decided not to argue. Didn’t want to.

“As I said, that’s my bastard-me. ‘Bastard-to-be-worth-liking’, y’know.” Aziraphale laughed, but he sounded tired. “Let’s sober up, d-dearest,” he uttered. Crowley hummed in agreement. Within a second, the alcohol had left their systems, and the demon tried getting up without any grace whatsoever. He stroked his sleeves to clean them.

“Angel,” he suddenly said, and Aziraphale stood up.

“It is five p.m.”

“Yes, dear. Five past, actually.”

Crowley paused. “Why did we get drunk?”

Aziraphale puffed his cheeks in contemplation. “That is a good question.”

“If neither of us remember, it might’ve been nothing.”

“Could be,” Aziraphale sighed. Then he looked up unsurely. “Crowley, dear, sorry for what I’ve said.”

“Oh, don’t apologise, angel. It was nothing.” Crowley smiled at him through his shades, but he was terribly tired. “Wouldn’t make any sense to carry a grudge against you,” he continued as he grabbed his jacket, “being immortal and such. Besides, I know you love me.”

Aziraphale smiled uncomfortably. “Ahh… yes, dear. But I still think you should learn how to swim.”

“No need for swimming when you can walk on water, angel,” Crowley said with a click of his tongue. “C’mon, let’s get those ducks some dinner.”


	22. Water Fight

On an especially hot summer’s day, Crowley and Aziraphale went down to the beach to cool down. Crowley enjoyed floating in the sea, and Aziraphale had built something like a secret base with his three sun brollies, as the sunlight wasn’t beneficial to his fair skin (he sunburned rather easily).

It was silent in the deserted bay, except for the soft sound of the waves. Crowley was laying in the ocean, enjoying the cold water on his skin and the sun on his face. He turned and called Aziraphale’s name. The angel looked up from his book and waved, and Crowley grinned like an idiot and waved back.

“Come on,” he said when he returned to their base, “let’s go in there together. It’s amazing.”

“I would love to,” Aziraphale said, “but the sun’s burning.”

“Well, the heat accumulates under your these,” Crowley said and pointed to the sunshades. “Out on the water, there’s fresh air.”

Aziraphale sighed and looked at Crowley through his incredibly unfashionable sunglasses. “You may be right. Fine. I’ll come with you.”

Crowley took his hand and ran to the water with him. “Don’t jump,” Aziraphale whined, but it was too late, the cold water embraced them. “Should’ve taken off that shirt if you didn’t want it to get wet,” Crowley grinned when his head popped up again.

“It protects my skin, you old serpent,” Aziraphale said in tense tones. All of a sudden, his face softened, and Crowley crawled towards him through the water. “Not bad, am I right?” he hissed. Aziraphale smiled at him mysteriously, and then he used a single hand to splash him with cold sea water.

Crowley spat as the angel chuckled to himself.

“That was a declaration of war,” Crowley said and went after Aziraphale with a bigger splash of water. The angel wasn’t that fast to begin with, and in the water his legs moved in slow motion, so he got the full charge. Crowley laughed, and his smile maddened when Aziraphale miracled a plastic water blaster and kept shooting him with colds jets of water. The angel liked playing dirty, huh. Crowley raised his arms to summon a bubble above Aziraphale’s head, about the size of a car, and he let it pop with a smug grin. The angel shook himself and rubbed his eyes, but he recovered quickly.

They played a little longer until both of them were freezing and returned to their base, where Aziraphale made them snuggle up together under a fluffy towel, sand between their toes. “That was fun,” Aziraphale said after a while, and Crowley nodded. “I think I’ll sunbath now,” the demon said, and Aziraphale wanted to join him. “Oh, but dear, let me put some sunscreen on your back and shoulders first. They’re already red, you really need to take care of your skin.”

Crowley blinked. “You want to lotion me?”

Aziraphale nodded dutifully, the cream already on his hands, and Crowley quickly lied onto his stomach.

When they turned on the radio later that day, the news reported heavy seas in South England and the possible danger of tsunamis. “They were gone just as fast. Experts are still trying to figure out what caused these gigantic waves. Stay tuned for an interview with our local weather man.”

Both Crowley and Aziraphale burst out laughing, but Crowley quickly stopped, because his shoulders bloody _hurt_ from the sunburn.

Aziraphale nurtured him lovingly, but could not stop himself from commenting, “It’ll peel off, just like snakeskin.”

“Shut up.”


	23. Playing Twister

In all their days on Earth, there were some things that Crowley and Aziraphale decided on never mentioning again. (That time Crowley walked in on Aziraphale trying on a toga, for example.) Another thing they decided not to talk about was their terrible attempt at playing Twister, a game that surely Hell took responsibility for. It had been sweaty, uncomfortable and stressful, especially for Aziraphale, who had to endure the constant fear of his trousers ripping.

So, they made a silent agreement on never touching this game again, ever. However, there was some kind of comedic fallout. The verbalisation ‘left foot, green’ had turned into the wildest things. It began tamely: “Angel, couch.”

Aziraphale snickered and joined Crowley, who was sitting on top of the backrest of the couch, relaxing himself into both the cushions and the demon’s legs, a cup of hot cocoa in his hands. Crowley hissed happily. “Demon, neck,” Aziraphale mumbled and crooked his head, so Crowley could bend down and place a gentle kiss there.

Soon, the commands would get more excessive. “Demon, kitchen.”

“Why?”

“Demon, kitchen! Come on,” Aziraphale laughed. “I’ve got angel food cake.”

“Oh,” said Crowley, “in that case: angel and demon, veranda.” Outside, their game went on: “Cake, mouth,” said Crowley and waited for Aziraphale to open his mouth, but the angel blushed. “No, I can eat by myself, thank you.”

“Cake, mouth. Brrr, here comes the food train-”

“I’m not a child, Crowley.”

“C’mon,” Crowley laughed, and Aziraphale would eventually, even though it upset him, open his mouth and allow Crowley to feed him a bit of cake.

 

“Locks, head,” Aziraphale would say someday, without any context.

“Excuse me?”

“Locks, head,” Aziraphale repeated and waved his chopsticks to point to Crowley’s face. The demon blinked. “Locks?”

“Yes. Like the long ones you sported back in the day, in the beginning.”

“Oh, those? They’re not very practical.”

“Locks, head.”

“We’re eating, angel.”

“Locks, head. Oh, no.” Aziraphale’s sight was disturbed by blond curls falling into his face. Crowley laughed. “You did not specify whose head,” he said. Aziraphale made the long locks disappear and pulled a single hair from his mouth. “Disgusting.”

“See? Not practical.”

“Yes, I see that now. What a pity.”

“You liked my curly hair?”

“I did,” Aziraphale said and ate another nigiri. To change the topic, Crowley asked, “We two, St James’s Park?”

After finishing their sushi, they made their way to their usual bench and sat down, feeding ducks and watching people pass by. Maybe I could go back to those locks sometime soon, Crowley thought and eyed his angel from the side, smiling. ‘Demon, Cloud Nine’.


	24. Something NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this lmao: https://en-sam-malas.tumblr.com/post/184538492375

Sexual intercourse seemed mostly boring, to Crowley at least. He was indifferent about it. Maybe he just couldn’t relate because he was a demon, his body worked different than the human body. He did not feel the need to have sex on a regular basis.

However, he did feel his body react to some things. As of yet, all these things had come from Aziraphale. And this _annoyed_ Crowley. It made him falter and look incredibly uncool. And the worst part was that the angel only did this to him because he _knew_. Aziraphale knew that Crowley did not like feeling uncool, and it delighted the angel every single time. Bastard.

But he did not think this out. The angel had even less of an idea about sex, seduction and fun. Today, Crowley would turn tables.

They went to the Ritz and sat opposite of each other. “You’re looking enthusiastic,” Aziraphale noted, but went with it. After a considerable amount of alcohol, when both were tipsy, tired and emotional, Crowley made his first move and slipped out of his left shoe. Carefully, he tickled Aziraphale’s leg with his toes.

“Oh! What’s… oh dearest, it’s just you,” the angel smiled.

Crowley grinned and slipped his toes into the trouser leg. He expected soft woollen socks, like Aziraphale usually wore, and wanted to slide them down seductively to expose the fair skin, but he did not succeed. They didn’t move a bit. He paused. “What socks are you wearing?” he blurted out in irritation.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale and rolled up his trouser legs to show them to Crowley.

He did not believe his eyes. “Sock garters?”

“Yes, they are so convenient. Keep everything in place.” The angel smiled innocently and took another sip of wine. Crowley leaned back. Holy hell, those looked sexy, especially on his angel. His mind went wild, and his brain made no attempt to stop his mouth: “D’you wear braces, too?”

“Occasionally, yes.”

“On what occasions?”

“Don’t know. They’re not that comfortable, to be honest.”

“I see,” Crowley hissed and licked his lips. Aziraphale noticed his thinking but was too drunk to be ashamed. “Do you want me to wear braces, dear?”

Crowley shifted. “Yes.”

Aziraphale snickered. “Well, too bad.”

“I’d love to see you in straps.”

“Oh, stop it,” the angel mumbled, smiling and flushing. He snickered and leaned forward, and then Crowley felt his shoeless foot being touched by another foot, delicate and gentle.

“Do you like this?” Aziraphale purred, voice all deep and low, his blurry eyes directly on Crowley, and Crowley said something along the lines of ‘my plants need watering’ and wanted to get up, to exhale, and Aziraphale just laughed innocently and fell asleep with his head on the table.


	25. Stargazing

It was a cold December night, and conveniently Michael Bublé sang about the exact same thing through the street’s loudhailers. People with thick gift bags and colourful scarves rushed by, even though Christmas Eve was still a few weeks away (people tend to buy last minute gifts, Aziraphale noticed).

Aziraphale loved Advent season. Stressful it was, yes, but so very charming. Everything was so cosy with Christmas lights, cookies, woollen blankets and cotton gloves. There was a sense of wonder, excitement and love in the air – a perfect season for angels to thrive.

Crowley wasn’t immune to it, either, even though he would never admit it. Aziraphale smiled blissfully at him.

“What?” Crowley asked.

“Nothing, dear. Shall we go on?” Aziraphale suggested and linked arms with the demon. They strolled through Mayfair and watched kids with sweets run past them. Aziraphale looked up. The night was clear and the stars did their best to not let the full moon surpass their shining. “How beautiful,” Aziraphale mumbled and squeezed Crowley’s arm a bit tighter as their breathes crystalized before their faces in the cold air. He smiled, and Crowley smiled back.

They sat down on a bench to let the day come to a quiet end. Aziraphale had trouble not looking up constantly, the stars were just so amazing to gaze at.

“There’s nothing between us and the universe now,” he said somewhen.

Crowley hummed.

Aziraphale turned to him. “Aren’t you cold? You’re only wearing this light scarf, dear.”

“I’m fine,” Crowley assured him. “I don’t need as many layers as you.”

Aziraphale blinked at him through his headwear. “All right, if you say so.”

Crowley shifted a bit closer and took the angel’s hand as they listened to the faraway music from Upper Brook Street (Nat King Cole, to Aziraphale’s delight), gloved fingers intertwining and softly melting into each other. They looked at the stars together and even observed a shooting star.

“Have you wished for something?” Aziraphale asked quietly, his smile all hopeful.

“I have,” answered Crowley, and Aziraphale felt the stars smile down on them. “It’s getting quite cold,” he then said. “We should go home and have some cocoa and cookies.”

“Fine with me,” Crowley hissed and pulled his angel from the bench into a dancing spin in the snow. Aziraphale laughed blissfully as the starlight lit his demon’s yellow eyes. No, even fallen angels could not resist the wonders of this season.

 

_They call it the season of giving_  
_I'm here, I'm yours for the taking_  
_They call it the season of giving_  
_I'm here, I'm yours_


	26. Ugly Sweaters

Crowley considered the Christmas decoration in his flat to be rather tasteful. Gold, black and white, modern, not campy like those houses that looked like their inhabitants were on acid. A glass of champagne in his hand, Crowley danced around the flat as Whitney Houston sang about decking the halls. (The boughs of holly that Crowley had decided on were green and white.)

Then, there was a knock on his door. Crowley emptied his glass in one go.

“Hi, angel,” he beamed as he opened the door.

“Hello, dearest. Merry Christmas.” Crowley’s heart skipped a beat when Aziraphale smiled at him like that, with those eyes full of love, his whole body full of love. “Bloody hell,” Crowley muttered, “this season really gets your people off, eh? Merry Christmas to you, too.”

“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale said and hugged Crowley in the doorframe.

They sat down at the dining room table. Aziraphale looked around. “Don’t you have a tree?”

“I do, over there,” Crowley said and pointed to his TV set. A small potted Christmas tree stood next to the monitor, black needles with golden decoration on top. “Oh,” said Aziraphale.

“I know you don’t like it,” Crowley admitted, “which is why I lit some candles to make up for it.”

“Oh, no, no, it’s rather stylish. Suits you.”

“Thanks.”

“Besides, the tree isn’t what counts, is it?” Aziraphale began, and Crowley took another sip of champagne to brace himself for what was about to come. “What counts is love and solidarity,” Aziraphale said and looked at Crowley with those eyes again, those shining eyes that made it seem as if he was about to burst from happiness. But suddenly, he looked down.

“What is it, angel?”

“In my imagination it seemed like a good idea,” Aziraphale sighed and put his Christmas bag onto the table. “It’s a trend with young people these days and I thought you’d like them as a present. But now, having seen your Christmas decoration and knowing about your general attitude towards it-”

“Angel, what’s the point? It’s all right,” Crowley laughed. He leaned forward to lay his hand on Aziraphale’s, feeling the heat it radiated. Normally he would’ve cringed, but… well, it was the season, he couldn’t help it. Aziraphale smiled softly. “I knew we said no presents. But you know me… Anyway, here you are.” He handed Crowley the bag, and the demon gasped as he looked inside.

_Ugly Christmas sweaters._

“They might not be your taste,” Aziraphale uttered, “I know you’re not one for those, I don’t know what overcame me.”

“Angel, stop talking,” Crowley snapped. He threw his black jacket away and pulled one of the sweaters – the red one with the white pattern – over his head. “It has wings stitched onto the back!” he cried. “And it’s so soft!”

Aziraphale faltered. “You… like it?”

“Yes!” Crowley laughed and beamed at his angel, and Aziraphale blushed. “Oh, that’s a relief. I thought you didn’t want one. Spent several weeks making those.”

“You made them _yourself_?”

“Yes, the sewing machine still works,” Aziraphale said with a sheepish smile. Crowley was about to explode with adoration for this little creature. “Gosh, you’re so cute.”

“Ahh, i-it’s just a little something…”

“That’s the best gift ever,” Crowley said and imagined Aziraphale in the blue sweater – which made Aziraphale wear it immediately. “Oh,” the angel said and looked to his belly.

Crowley sniffed. “I love you so damn much.”

“Don’t curse,” Aziraphale snickered, but then Crowley kissed his forehead and pulled him out of the chair to dance, soft fabric all over his torso. Lovely. A mistletoe appeared above them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two Christmas themed ones in a row because I’m weak like that lmao  
> Whitney Houston’s Deck the Halls/Silent Night is 1 perfect Christmas song for Crowley in my opinion. Aziraphale would be more about the classics and Dean Martin and vintage hobbyhorses and cuddling up in the candlelit bookshop… Geez I’m having way too much fun with this :’)


	27. Romantic Movie Kiss

Aziraphale hummed in contentment when he lowered his fork. He loved angel food cake and had taken Crowley’s piece, too. The demon did not mind. “This was good,” the angel sighed and dabbed his mouth with his paper napkin.

“Want another sundae?” Crowley asked, leaning back.

“No, I’m full,” Aziraphale sighed with a sad smile. “We should go home.”

“Your place or mine?” Crowley asked, smug smile on his face, and buttoned up his jacket. “Actually,” Aziraphale said, suddenly in a haste, “I still have work in the bookshop. Could you drop me there?”

“Of course,” Crowley said, but not without disappointment. He would do anything. This evening in particular, he had done nothing but try to please his angel, but only now did he realise this.

When they stepped out of the restaurant, people on the pavements put up their umbrellas. It rained. Normally Crowley just could’ve made the rain stop, but instead he heaved his coat up and pointed Aziraphale to get under there. “Oh, dear,” Aziraphale snickered. They ran to the Bentley in small quick steps, and Crowley opened the door for his angel. When he went around the car, he briefly faltered. What was happening here…?

In the car, they listened to some Grieg. (Crowley had just found another cassette tape that had yet to turn into a Best of Queen.) “Oh,” said Aziraphale down the line, “I remember this piece. Våren. It’s nice. Edvard’s music is so melancholic.” He looked into the middle distance, dreamily, and Crowley had to be careful not to drive into a building. His angel was so distractingly beautiful when he was dreaming.

The weather got worse, it was pouring. The Bentley’s wipers had trouble coping with the water mass. There were few lights in Soho, but when they came nearer to the bookshop, the lights inside alit – a soft orange glow in the dark night.

Aziraphale turned to say good-bye. “Thank you, dear. It has been a wonderful evening,” he smiled.

“Don’t mention it,” Crowley uttered (but without hissing). He jumped out of the car, instantly soaking wet, and got Aziraphale’s door. “How will you make it to the other side of the street?” he asked into the Bentley. Aziraphale frowned. “I can dry myself later, thank you.”

When he got out, he wanted to run, Crowley held him by the hand. The angel laughed. “No! I’m getting all wet!”

How blissful the rain felt…! Crowley grinned and pulled his angel into a gentle embrace, spinning around in the pouring rain and not caring whether the angel could feel his love or not. “You stupid old serpent,” Aziraphale murmured, on the verge of tears, and then Crowley stopped, looked at him and leaned in.

They kissed in the rain. Midnight in Soho, Crowley holding his angel, bending, while Grieg’s Last Spring filled the air around them.

 

Crowley stood vertically in bed. Aziraphale’s bed in the bookshop.

“Fuck,” he murmured. When he stepped down the spiral staircase, the angel was still there, drinking his cocoa. He smiled so blissfully at Crowley that the demon had to look down. Was he mocking him? He surely looked like he fell out of bed. Well, to be precise, he did.

“Good morning, dear.”

Crowley greeted back by yawning. He would never get _that image_ out of his head. He wondered if angels dreamt, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Which is why Crowley woke in Chapter 3 lol. This piece is perfect for a romantic kiss in the rain!


	28. Death

“Angel,” Crowley began, “do you ever think about death?”

Aziraphale did not look up from his book. “Yes, more than I can bare, actually. He looked rather spooky, his voice still haunts me.”

“Not the horseman,” Crowley said irritated and drank his tea, “mortality.” His gaze lingered on the window, wandering outside to the sunset above the North Sea. Gulls crying. And here they were, sitting in their cottage’s living room between houseplants and books, like regular people and not hereditary enemies. Living a regular life.

“Why do you ask that, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked. He had put down his book, which was a sign of genuine investment.

Crowley shook his head. He knew his angel could not cope well with his sudden outbursts of philosophical rubbish and weltschmerz. “Mortality, angel, as in… people die.”

“They do,” Aziraphale said, a questioning tone in his voice.

“Well,” Crowley went, “we don’t. That’s all I was thinking. Nothin’ to worry about.” He tried a smile, but of course he could not fool an angel, not when it came to feelings. Aziraphale exhaled. “I know what you mean.”

“Of course you do,” Crowley said truthfully, but Aziraphale just smiled bitterly. “Yes, I know exactly what’s going through your head.” He looked outside the window, too.

“For many, many years, eons even, I wondered what the big deal was. Death. Such a monolith. Human’s greatest mystery.” He looked up again, embarrassed of him trailing off. “And we looked death into the eyes. Not the, err, horseman, you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Crowley laughed and sat down beside Aziraphale on the sofa’s armrest. “We were facing Satan himself, and I had a tyre lever.”

“We had each other,” Aziraphale said simply. “I held your hand. And… it must’ve been there and then that I thought…” He laughed in disbelief. “I realised that this was all I ever had. And now I would lose it forever.” He looked up at Crowley, but only briefly. Instead, they looked outside again. The sun sank into an orange sea.

“This is why humans fear death, because they fear losing someone for all eternity. Well, for the rest of their lives. Surely, to know about this, one must realise that one has someone in the first place. It’s a strange sensation,” Aziraphale wittered on, but Crowley just reached down and pressed the angel’s head to his chest, placing a kiss on the bright hair.

Immortality was a strange affair, but if you had someone immortal by your side, it wasn’t half bad, Crowley thought. Whichever way he looked at it, he was thankful for meeting Aziraphale, and he felt that thankfulness in every fibre of his being, so Aziraphale surely felt it, too. Nevertheless, as if he physically needed to say it aloud, Crowley proclaimed, “I’m glad we’ve got each other, angel.”


	29. Karaoke Night

Crowley had tried to tempt Aziraphale to karaoke before, but today was the first time the angel had actually said yes. They drove to a joint together. Not a karaoke bar, but a Japanese style one, where they were in the privacy of an own room to sing. One drink was mandatory, so Crowley ordered Sex on the Beach while Aziraphale went with soda. So far, so usual.

“You can also rent costumes, if you like,” the receptionist offered, and Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. “I’d like the Elvis leather jacket, please.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Really? You and a leather jacket?”

“Oh, it’s not for me, dear,” Aziraphale said.

Some minutes later, they were in their room. It was small and kind of tacky, but cosy. Aziraphale drank some soda through his straw while Crowley browsed the song list, wearing the red leather jacket. “You should go with Elvis,” Aziraphale suggested and played with the straw. Crowley adjusted his sunglasses. No, he wasn’t ready for this yet.

Instead, they went for some Bowie. His songs suited Crowley’s deep voice, but Aziraphale had some trouble. “Would you like to try Mika then?” Crowley joked, but Aziraphale straightened up and reminded him of Elvis. Crowley reclined again.

But they drank more and more, and drunk Queen singing ensued. And Crowley laying his arm around Aziraphale. “You know,” Aziraphale bubbled, “I never really paid attention to the lyrics until now.”

“Ingenious, aren’t they,” Crowley said, his shades somewhere on the sofa. “I really adore ‘Somebody to love’,” Aziraphale rambled on, browsing the song list. “But now I want to listen to your Elvis, dear.”

“If needs must…” Crowley growled. It never occurred to him that Aziraphale might love his singing voice just as much as he loved Aziraphale’s (picture-book angelic choir). Crowley gave in. He did not want to argue, but he made sure his shades were back on his face in time. Because, of course, he would get emotional and uncool.

But eventually, he just gave in to the feelings. Why shouldn’t he? They ended up swaying, slow-dance style, foreheads touching, while Elvis sang the lyrics himself, so Crowley could concentrate on the fuzzy feeling in his chest and the fuzzy angel’s warm hands on his back. He felt like burning up, but the pain was nice. And so, they danced.  
  


_Wise men say only fools rush in_   
_But I can't help falling in love with you_   
_Shall I stay?_   
_Would it be a sin_   
_If I can't help falling in love with you?_

_Like a river flows surely to the sea_   
_Darling, so it goes_   
_Some things are meant to be_   
_Take my hand, take my whole life, too_   
_For I can't help falling in love with you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah the Steggy dance was a dream come true, but what about our husbands;;


	30. Snake King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for poikilothermic Crowley. Inspired by this cute comic: https://fjk-pic.tumblr.com/post/184690864316

At first, the idea had seemed as reasonable as ever to Crowley. Not ideal, but reasonable. His energy level had dropped to an absolute minimum, he had felt miserable and powerless. He did not know why, he just felt awful for weeks, and even sleep couldn’t help his condition. And it debilitated his angel, too. Aziraphale felt obliged to take care of Crowley, made his bed and served him tea, but nothing would help. He looked through all his books on demons but found no clue for a possible cure for Crowley’s condition. Maybe he was just ill.

Crowley knew a way. He had not taken this form since the Garden of Eden, but it was his ultimate emergency exit – turning into a snake, that is.

“Poikilothermic,” he said to Aziraphale. “Just put me into the fridge for a few weeks and I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure about that?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yes. It’s not ideal, but it’ll help.”

“If you say so,” Aziraphale mumbled with a worried face.

Crowley did not really like his snake form. It reminded him of the time after his fall and felt primitive. And Aziraphale didn’t like it either, that was the biggest reason for Crowley to feel uncomfortable. The angel hesitated to touch the little black and red snake to put it into the fridge, as Crowley had told him to do, but the snake hissed in a friendly manner when Aziraphale reached out for it.

“You know, my dear, you do look different,” he mumbled, “but I’d know these eyes anywhere. See you in seven weeks.”

And so, Crowley spent fifty days in a refrigerator. Chilly five degrees. Finally he felt his body relax, felt his eyes close. Well, not really ‘close’, as he was a snake, but that thin membrane covered them as he fell asleep. He calmed. Once in a while, he heard Aziraphale open the fridge to look after him, mumbling quiet words of affection or snickering. This made him relax just as much.

Strangely enough, during his time in the fridge, Crowley began to accept this form as part of what he was. He was getting better.

There was only one problem.

“Oh dear, how can we turn you back? Play up, Crowley, dear. Do it like you did back then.”

Crowley tried, but nothing worked. He was on the table, room temperature higher than usual so he could wake up more easily. Aziraphale was so considerate. But Crowley did not know another way to turn back human. He tried very hard, and the magic made the table float in the air and book pages fly across the room, but he did not turn back. He stayed a snake.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said again and patted Crowley’s little head. The warmth of his hand felt amazing, and Crowley leaned into it, his body responding to every little movement Aziraphale made. The angel picked him up. “But you feel better now, don’t you?” he said, voice all soft and low. “That’s all that counts for now. We’ll find a way to turn you back, surely. And if it’s any consolation, I think you look rather cute the way you are.”

There was no fear in his voice, although the angel had been the one to worry before, and Crowley almost felt like tearing up. His angel was so worried and those big grey eyes, so close to him, were filled with so much love, an angel’s love, as were his warm hands. Aziraphale sighed.

He loved him so much.

Crowley lifted his snake head and pressed his mouth to Aziraphale’s in what should look like a kiss. The angel squealed and – with a _puff_ Crowley was back, floating in front of Aziraphale’s surprised face ere falling to the ground. “Yeah!” he laughed and stretched his limbs on the floor. “I’m back, baby! Feels good!”

Aziraphale laughed uncomfortably.

“C’mere, angel.”

“No, you come here,” Aziraphale said simply and pulled Crowley up by his hand. He knew he should not approve of what had just happened, however he could not help but smile at the sight of his beloved demon back in good health.

“Well,” Aziraphale said as he rubbed dust off Crowley’s sleeves, “it’s good to have you back, my friend.”

Crowley eyed him closely, a little smile on his lips.

Aziraphale sighed. He would never get that feeling out of his brain, the feeling of a reptile, Crowley or not, pressing his scales onto his lips. “It’s like that fairy tale,” Crowley explained with a hissing growl when Aziraphale was about to turn away. “The Frog King. You know it.”

“Yes, I do. And I also know that it’s the princess that decides to kiss the frog, not the other way around.”

Crowley searched for his eyes, amused as ever. “Doesn’t matter. It worked, didn’t it?”

“It did,” Aziraphale agreed.

Crowley felt so giggly and energized. He laughed and pulled Aziraphale close again and hissed against his chin, “An angel’s kiss. I imagined it would work, and it did, angel.” (A blatant lie – he had just felt like kissing him.)

“Well, that’s fortunate, isn’t it?”

“Yesss.”

After a few moments, he felt Aziraphale relax and heard him sigh. Crowley softened his grip and pulled away, grinning. Aziraphale smiled back and cupped his cheek to feel soft skin instead of scales. “Let’s get you cleaned up, dear.”

The warmth made Crowley feel all tingly. He got high on it. “Yes,” he hissed, “and then lunch?”

“Yes, I’d love to.”

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone reading this! I’ve had a blast doing this challenge and I’m so glad you enjoyed it. My heart jumped everytime I saw new kudos or your thoughts in the comments.  
> Tomorrow is the day, I can’t believe it;; Thank you ♡


End file.
